The Ballad of B & C
by MarvelousTune
Summary: "I mean, wouldn't you do anything to get the hell out of this place?" He asked as his eyes turned towards the road in front of them. Of course she would. (Or the Bonnie and Clyde AU no one asked for)


_Author's note: I saw Bonnie & Clyde the musical for the first time the other day and fell in love. Honestly, I'm so obsessed right now. (I highly recommend it if you're in to musicals.) Obviously I had to make a Bellarke AU out of it. The songs that inspired this the most were "This World Will Remember Me", "This World Will Remember Us", and "Too Late to Turn Back Now". I apologize for any major errors. I just quickly wrote this for fun, and I was so excited to share it! Haha. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have._

* * *

Bellamy Blake learned early on in life that if he wanted something from the world, he had to take it himself. His father walked out on them before Bellamy was old enough to capture a single lousy memory of the man, and his poor mother had trouble finding work after his sister Octavia was born. Rumors spread like wildfire in the little town they reluctantly called home, and whatever the little old church ladies said about his mother effectively took the bread off the Blake's table and the fire out of his mother's eyes. The older the Blake children got, the more their mother seemed to fade away.

The little family had next to nothing, but everyone seemed to want a piece of them for some reason.

When the boy next door's bicycle was stolen the police did not waste a minute before accusing a nine year old Bellamy of committing the crime. When the little girl down the block came home with a black eye and a broken baby doll everyone looked to young Octavia as the culprit, claiming she had done it out of envy. To this day Bellamy did not know what his mother did to keep the cops from dragging either one of them off to the juvenile detention center, but it did not really matter now.

Back then it was always something: they were too loud, looked too poor, or took up too much space in general.

He was barely seventeen when his mother died, leaving him alone to fend for Octavia and himself. She had tried to raise him to be better than what people thought of him, but years of watching others take and take from his family instilled a deep desire to take back in Bellamy. He could not expect anybody to help him just like nobody expected him to become anything more than a good for nothing criminal.

However, Mrs. Blake's lessons did not fall on deaf ears. Bellamy did not see himself as a "good for nothing criminal", no, he saw what he did as righting the wrongs that had been done to him. All of these people were sitting around accepting their situations, projecting their unhappiness onto other people, but Bellamy was out taking matters into his own hands. He did what he had to do to keep his family alive, and if that meant stealing a few cars then no problem. If he had to swipe some food from the corner store to make sure Octavia did not get too hungry, then so be it.

It was his way of life, and Bellamy was good at it

"You're a regular Jesse James." Octavia said one day while they were taking a joy ride in Bellamy's latest conquest. It was a well-kept older car with new leather seats, and it would make them a decent amount of cash. "Or a small-town Al Capone." She added and grinned over at him from the passenger seat.

A boyish smile crept onto his face as he glanced over at her.

"You think so?" He asked with a chuckle as his foot dug into the gas pedal.

"'Course I do, Bell. You're just worth less… Oh, and you don't have as many pretty pictures in the papers." She teased and slipped her hand out the window to feel the wind on her skin. When he playfully elbowed her in the side, Octavia laughed and swatted his arm away. "Focus on the road!" She demanded.

"Please, I could drive these streets blindfolded!" Octavia yelled at him to keep both his eyes open before he continued, "Just you wait, O. I've got plans for us. Plans that'll get us out of the shitty dust of this town and to somewhere we belong."

"And how are you going to do that just stealing cars and sneaking food off the shelves at Charlotte's?" She asked, arching a brow curiously. Octavia could see the dreams gleaming behind her brother's wild eyes, and she wondered if it ever got tiring working so hard to get out of this place. That's all he had been doing since the day he was born, and it only got worse after their mother's passing.

"No one gets anywhere with small crimes, Octavia. Those are just for surviving. I'm done with surviving," He explained, "I'm ready to live."

Bellamy Blake was going to be proof that things could get better. One day he would have enough money to stop committing crimes and give Octavia the peaceful life she deserved. That is all he really wanted. This way of life was to pay the bills, and once he got everything sorted out he'd go straight and fall back into line like nothing had happened.

At least, that was the plan before things got out of control.

Before he got a taste of fame and realized that there was no way he could be just another face in the streets again.

Before he met Clarke Griffin.

The first time he ever talked to her she was standing on the side of the road, and her yellow curls were flying around her face like a blonde tornado. She was cursing up a storm and kicking the tire of her car like she could beat the vehicle into working again.

"You need some help there, Princess?" Bellamy asked as he approached the chaotic scene before him. He saw her jump a little at the unfamiliar sound of his voice and turn to see who was speaking to her, giving the tire a minute to breathe.

"Excuse me?" She replied as her arms crossed in front of her chest. Bellamy was positive that she had never noticed him before, but he had seen her around town. He knew her name was Clarke Griffin, and that her family was pretty well-off even after her father's death a couple years ago. Her mother was practically in charge of the town of Ark, Texas.

"I mean, it looks like you're having some trouble." He said before patting the hood of her car with his hand. "I'm pretty good with cars. Maybe I could help fix you up in exchange for a ride?" Clarke's eyes settled on the car for a moment before she glanced down at her watch and nodded.

"I don't know what's wrong with it." Clarke told him and moved towards the front of the vehicle. Her brows furrowed as she looked over it which caused a little crease on her forehead to appear. "The dumb, old thing just started making this weird noise. I'm not really sure how to describe it." That did not stop her from trying to recreate, though, and Bellamy had to use all of his strength to keep from laughing.

A little later he poked his head out from under the hood and called, "Wait, what did you say it sounded like again, Princess?" There was oil smeared across the bridge of his nose, hiding the freckles splattered across his skin, and his dark curls were starting to droop into his eyes from the summer heat.

She opened her mouth to go over the situation again, but the stupid grin stuck to Bellamy's face told her that she was the butt of a joke. "Ha. Ha. Very funny. You know, Mr. Whoever You Are, if you aren't going to help, you can just get out of here! I don't need people laughing at me." She snipped.

"My name's Bellamy Blake, and I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I thought it was cute." He laughed. "Besides, I could never just leave you out here to die."

"Is that a line you use on all the girls?" She inquired before glancing away to the sky. It was not hard to imagine him promising hundreds of women that he would never leave them which for some reason only caused her irritation with him to grow. "And I don't need saving, especially not by you."

"Oh, so you know how to fix the car yourself?" Bellamy replied in mock surprise. "My apologies. I didn't realize." He made a show of stepping away from the car and motioning for her to take his place. "You've got it from here."

Clarke glared at him for a minute before sighing, "Just hurry, please. My mama's waiting for me."

"Of course." He stated and returned to work. "And I only use that line on pretty girls whose cars break down on the side of the road, Princess."

"Good lord, stop with the princess stuff!" She cried. "My name's Clarke. Why do you keep calling me that?" He could not help the chuckle that escaped his throat when he saw that she looked about ready to pull her hair out.

"Well, it's just logic. Your mama's the queen of the town, right? So that makes you the princess, Clarke." He replied matter-of-factly. It did not shock her that he knew who she was. If you lived anywhere near the town you heard about all the things Abby Griffin was doing to help the community get through these hard times. What shocked her was how the smirk on his face made something twist in her chest despite the fact she was so determined to dislike him.

"Well, knock it off." She muttered and pushed her hair out of her face.

Suddenly Bellamy's back straightened and he hit his head on the hood of the car. He swore and rubbed the back of his head with his hand as he slammed the hood of her car shut and hopped into the backseat.

"What the hell are you doing now?" Clarke snapped as she looked through the window to see him attempting to hide in the floor. If she was not so confused it would be funny to watch this rather tall man trying to fit himself in such a small place. She was about to proceed with questioning when the sound of sirens coming down the road hit her ears. Clarke turned away from the window and watched as two police cars raced past them. A few minutes later Bellamy was pulling his body out of the car floor and into the seat.

"Are they looking for you?" Her voice came out a bit softer as if she were afraid someone else might hear her.

"Probably." Bellamy confessed. "Wow, did you draw all of these?" His eyes were glued to a page of a sketch book he had found in the car.

Clarke ignored his question about her art. "Why?" She insisted.

"Well, it's really good. You're a talented artist. What on earth are you still doing in this little town? This stuff belongs in museums." He said as he pointed to one of her sketches, but then Clarke opened the door and ripped the book out of his hands.

"Why are they looking for you?" She asked again. They had a stare down before Bellamy finally gave in and started to explain.

"I've robbed a couple stores. Only one today, but unfortunately the cops can't seem to forget about the others. Uh, I've stolen some cars too." He said with an easy laugh, but when Bellamy looked at her his smile fell. She was staring at him in disbelief. "It's not a big deal. You don't have to worry about me…" He continued as he reached up to rub the back of his neck, "Ya know, because I robbed a store and stole a few cars. I don't want any trouble." The last part sounded a little forced like he was not used to explaining himself to anyone.

Clarke looked down at the book in her hands and shrugged, "I've known a couple people who've robbed stores." Everyone did nowadays. With the economy the way it was, people were struggling all over. Bellamy knew it was nothing, but he could not shake the feeling she was trying to impress him with that piece of trivia.

"You ever know anyone to get away with it?" Bellamy asked, his cocky grin returning. She eyed him for a minute, but did not answer.

"You really like my art?" Clarke asked instead. He nodded and reached forward to flip to a specific page.

"Of the ones I've seen, this one is my favorite." Bellamy said honestly. Clarke's lips twisted into a smile as she looked at the drawing of a road that seemed to stretch on forever into the horizon. It was simple, but she was proud of the cracks on the road and the way the grass looked like it was swaying in the wind.

"You don't seem like a criminal." Clarke said absentmindedly as she closed the book. "You seem reasonable, and I'm not just saying that because you like my art."

"It's only for a while. Just until I've got enough to get out of the state and start over. After that the law won't have to worry about me anymore… I mean, wouldn't you do anything to get the hell out of this place?" He asked as his eyes turned towards the road in front of them.

 _Of course I would._ She thought.

Bellamy finished fixing her car a little bit later, and Clarke held up her end of the deal.

The car ride was mostly quiet, but when she pulled up in front of the house Bellamy gave her directions to she turned in her seat to look at him and said nothing.

"Clarke-" Bellamy began, but she immediately shushed him. For what felt like ages she sat there staring at him, thinking through what she wanted to do. He gave her all the time she needed, because whatever she was thinking about was obviously important to this stubborn, bossy girl he found on the side of the road. He felt like it might be important to him too, but he was not sure why just yet.

Bellamy knew the moment Clarke had it figured out. It seemed like the bits and pieces turning in her brain audibly clicked into place and stopped. Her course of action was finally decided, and she reached over, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him towards her.

The first time he kissed Clarke Griffin he knew he had to rearrange his plans.

The second time he kissed Clarke Griffin, he realized that he was going to have to pull a couple more jobs. Bigger jobs. She was used to different kind of life, and Bellamy wanted her to have everything.

* * *

Bellamy leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Clarke's temple before opening the door and hopping out of the car.

"I'll be back before you know it." He said with a smile as he put his hat on over his slicked back hair. "Keep the car running for me, and maybe I'll buy you something nice." He added playfully and turned to leave, but Clarke reached over and grabbed his arm, pulling him back to her.

"Maybe I'll buy _you_ something." She smirked, making Bellamy's eyes widen. He did a quick evaluation of his surroundings before he ducked back into the car and eagerly captured her lips in a kiss. When they pulled apart Clarke straightened his hat and told him to be careful.

"Careful's my middle name, remember?" Bellamy grinned.

"Who could forget the name of Bellamy Careful Danger Victory Blake?" Clarke asked with a dramatic flourish that was meant to shove him out of the car. "The name that sends men of the law running in fear."

"Don't miss me too much." Bellamy laughed, closed the car door, and made his way into the store.

This was supposed to be an easy job. All he had to do was go in, grab the money, and get out. Easy. Bellamy had done it so many times that he was not even nervous anymore. The only butterflies fluttering around in his stomach were Clarke's doing, and when he raised his gun at the group of people standing in line at the register he still had a smile on his face.

"I want to see everyone with their hands up. No funny business!" Bellamy shouted, and everyone froze. "Now I want everyone in the corner over there." When no one moved he gave his a gun shake, and that took care of that.

One woman was crying and he could hear an old man praying under his breath, but they did not concern Bellamy. His attention was on the man who had the key to what he wanted.

The clerk behind the counter started to move with the group, but Bellamy held out his arm to stop him.

"Uh, uh, uh." He chided. "Not you. Open up the cash register for me, will you?" The clerk stumbled behind the counter. His hands shook as he struggled to get the register open. Luckily for him, he eventually managed to get the job done. "Thank you, sir. Now put all the money in the bag." Bellamy demanded.

When the register was wiped clean, the clerk backed away from the counter like he was finished with his duty.

"You got a safe?" Bellamy asked, his head tilting slightly to the side.

"N-no." The clerk stammered, but that was not good enough. Bellamy gave his pistol a new target and aimed it at the clerk's chest.

Instead of asking again, Bellamy simply raised a brow and nodded towards the counter. The clerk released a deep breath and nodded a confirmation of the safe's existence. "Good." Bellamy purred. "Now open it. My girl needs a new easel."

The clerk knelt down in front of the safe behind the counter and started twisting numbers into the lock. It seemed like every time he was close to getting it open, his hands would slip or he would flinch and have to start over. Bellamy was growing impatient.

"Hurry up." Bellamy growled.

"I'm trying. I'm sorry. I-" The clerk blubbered as he continued to twist and turn.

"Stop apologizing and just do it. What's wrong with you?" Bellamy snapped again. His yelling match with the poor man cowering against the safe only ended when Bellamy heard another voice yell for nobody to move. His head snapped up to find a man in a police uniform pointing a gun directly at him.

Bellamy could feel all the air being sucked out of his lungs. In a flash he saw Clarke driving home to Octavia alone and himself being dragged away in handcuffs.

His mother was not here to stop them now.

"Put the gun down, son, and then I want to see your hands in the air." The man ordered. Bellamy did not move so the cop yelled again, "I'll shoot!"

Bellamy glanced at the gun in his hand and then back at the police officer, contemplating his options. He did not feel like going to jail. Now was not a good time.

"Come on, boy. Just put the gun down." The man repeated. There was something desperate in the cop's voice, some bit of doubt that Bellamy only caught the second time around.

This man did not want to shoot him. Chances are he had probably never used that weapon before in his life.

Instead of backing down, Bellamy raised his gun to meet the policeman's challenge and something reckless started to burn in his eyes.

"What if I say no?" Bellamy asked. The policeman's grip on the gun only tightened. Bellamy continued, "You're not going to shoot me." The cop told him to drop the weapon once again, but Bellamy carried on ignoring him. "You really think you can pull that trigger on me? End my life right here and now in front of all these people?"

"Would you like to find out?" The cop dared.

Bellamy just released a little laugh, "No, don't be crazy. I think I'd rather walk out of here, and you're going to let me." He took a step towards the back door, and the cop lurched forward, but there was no gunshot. Bellamy's heart was pounding in his chest, scraping against his ribs. He was running out of fake courage.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a standoff." Bellamy muttered mostly to himself.

The room began to fill with a thick silence as they sized each other up.

Bellamy and the cop both flinched when the sound of the bell hanging on the shop door suddenly tinkled through the room. With their guns still trained on each other, they both looked towards the door to find, much to Bellamy's horror, a beautiful blonde staring at them with big, concerned eyes.

Usually when Clarke saw Bellamy in his nice, pinstripe suit she could not help but think that was the way he was always meant to look.

Like a gentleman.

Like someone who was living life to the fullest.

Like someone who was well taken care of.

However when she saw him through the grocery store window with the policeman's gun aimed at his chest all Clarke could see was him wearing that damn suit in a wooden casket, his chest stained red, and his usually warm, tan skin paling by the hour. Death did not suit someone as naturally alive as Bellamy Blake.

They had important plans for their future, and there was no "them" if Bellamy was dead, so she had taken a deep breath and walked into the store.

"I told you to wait in the car." Bellamy said sounding much too helpless for a man holding up a grocery store.

"I don't take orders from you." She replied. Her eyes flickered from the policeman's face to the gun held in his hands, and it sent a shiver down Bellamy's spine. He did not want her to see him being put down like a stray dog. He was supposed to be someone kids looked up to. She was supposed to be an artist. They were supposed to be happy.

Something in Bellamy's gut tightened when Clarke's eyes moved past the cop and landed on him.

"Ma'am I suggest you get out of the way. Things are about to get mighty ugly, and I don't want you getting hurt." The police officer said urgently, and Clarke's jaw clenched.

She must have caught a glimpse of the fear hiding in Bellamy's eyes.

All he could see was a little girl standing in front of him with blonde curls too wild to fit her body, staring at him like she was trying to tell him something important. Bellamy could see the gears turning in her head. She was probably wondering how she had allowed herself to grow up and get into this situation or how she had let herself end up with someone like _him_.

From the start Bellamy knew she was too good for him.

Clarke's eyes were ripped away when the policeman barked his final warning at Bellamy. "I'm telling you, son, you don't have to do this. We can end this peacefully."

"Not a chance." Bellamy snarled. He was not going to prison. Not today, not ever.

Bellamy made another move for the door, the police officer moved too, and then a shot rang out.

The people huddled in the corner of the store screamed, and a baby started crying.

Bellamy prepared for the impact of the bullet, but it never came. He knew he had not pulled the trigger.

Slowly he peeled his eyes open and found Clarke, standing over the limp body of the police officer with a gun clutched in her fist. Her arm was still pointed towards the newly deceased man, but she did not look frightened. Clarke just glared down at the body, frozen in place.

A man started to stand up from his position in the corner of the store, but Bellamy pointed his gun at him. He was not sure if the man planned to try to take down Clarke or if he was attempting to help the police officer, but it did not matter.

Even with all the movement, Clarke still had not stirred.

"Nobody, move!" Bellamy demanded as he picked up the bag of money and quickly walked over to Clarke. "Come on, baby, we've gotta go. Baby, come on." He said, wrapping one arm around Clarke's shoulders and leading her towards the door while still slinging his gun around with the other.

They made it to the car without a problem. Bellamy guessed that cop had just been walking by and noticed the trouble.

"Idiot cop… Trying to be a hero…" He grumbled as he started the car and pulled out onto the road. No one made a sound for the rest of the trip home. He wondered what Clarke was thinking. The only indicator that she was actually in the car beside him was the sound of her shallow breathing. He wanted to say something, but words failed to come every time.

They had been parked in front of the house for a solid five minutes before Bellamy finally spoke up.

"We have to get out of this while we still can." Clarke's head turned in his direction. "The plan, well, that has to be over now. I can take Octavia and get out of the state; you know the cops can't cross state borders… Everything's going to be okay, Clarke. I'm positive no one's going to come after you. They- they'll just think I did it no matter what the witnesses say." Bellamy's voice was shaking almost as violently as his hands. He had never done anything like this before. Bellamy's life was all stolen cars and shoplifting. He had never intended for anyone to get hurt, but he should have known things would eventually get out of hand. "I'm sure Abby'll be happy to have you back. She never cared much for me, anyway." He tried to laugh it off, but his throat was too tight.

"Don't say that." Clarke said before he had a chance to continue rambling.

"Don't say what?"

Her eyes closed tightly as she shook her head, "Don't say this is over."

Bellamy turned to face her, "What do you mean 'don't say this is over'?"

"We're both in shock, Bellamy. We just need to think this through." She stammered.

"It has to end, Clarke. We killed someone. Don't you understand?" He shouted. "We're murderers!" As the words hung in the air, Bellamy had to lean back in his seat. It was different, more real when he said it himself. "Oh my god." He muttered in disbelief and buried his face in his hands.

"It was you or him!" Clarke snapped. "I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice!" He replied, finally looking back at her.

"I know you would have done the same thing if it was Octavia standing there." Clarke argued. "Besides, there's nothing we can do now. We're going to get through this."

"Yeah, we're going to get through this because I'm taking you back home and hightailing it out of here." Bellamy retorted.

"You are my home. Don't you see? It was your life or his, and I had to choose you. Baby, please." Clarke scooted closer to him, but Bellamy shook his head.

"This is over." He pulled the keys out of the ignition and was about to get out of the car when Clarke grabbed his shoulder.

"Don't you dare say goodbye, Blake. I'm not going anywhere." He heard her breath catch in her throat when she reached out to place her hand on his cheek and he flinched. "We can't change what happened, so we've got to move on. You have every right to be mad, but I can't do a thing about it now. Don't make me leave." She begged as her eyes glassed over with tears. "We've gotta get out of here. Together."

Bellamy sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned into her palm. She smelled like apples and gunpowder.

"Bell, look at me." She pleaded.

When he finally opened his eyes he placed his hand over hers and pulled it to his lips.

"There's no going back now…" He breathed.

"I know." Clarke replied before she slid over to wrap her arms around his body that was still slightly shaky. It did not feel any different from hers, really. She was just as scared. He pulled her even closer so that she was practically on his lap and gazed down at her.

"What would I do without you?" He wondered aloud.

"Probably something stupid." Clarke replied through her tears.

The smallest hint of a smile cracked onto Bellamy's face, and he pressed a searing kiss to Clarke's mouth which she readily returned. Her hand found its way to his cheek again before slipping back into his hair as she deepened the kiss. She told herself that he was worth it all, and as his lips moved to her neck, she started believing it.

"I love you."

They were going to get each other into so much trouble.

"I love you too."

Sometimes they wished they had stopped after that first taste of chaos, but it only got worse from there. "The Plan" morphed with every job they pulled, and eventually they were wanted nearly everywhere. Every newspaper had their pictures on the front page, and some even printed Clarke's artwork.

In a strange way Bellamy and Clarke were getting exactly what they always wanted.

Unfortunately it was short-lived. They were not stupid. They knew a life of crime was rarely a long one. The pair saw it coming from miles down the road.

Clarke saw it first in the way Bellamy's fingers developed a nervous tick, tapping against the steering wheel on the way to the next store or bank. She saw it in the way they could no longer go dancing, and how they had to meet her mother in the middle of the night so no one would notice their car.

Bellamy heard it in his sister's voice when she talked to him on the phone almost every night. He had stopped letting her tag along after the first time the cops tried to shootout their house. He saw it in the way Clarke stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror for a moment too long, like she was not sure exactly who was looking back at her. He heard it in the final breaths of all their victims.

Neither of them knew the exact time or day, but everything they had done was coming back to them. When it did they would go out together, side by side.

The last painting of Clarke Griffin's that was ever found was of a car parked on an old country road that lead off into the horizon. The sky was blue with clouds flitting around lazily, and the grass was green and looked like it was blowing in the wind, but the old, cracked asphalt of the road was painted a deep red that seemed to drip down the page. The car was beat up, rusted, and covered in black dots; bullet holes. Its window was shattered, and broken glass was scattered over the pavement. The license plate was from Ark, Texas, and read:

 **B & C**

On the back of the canvas were the names of all of Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin's victims.

There was an even hundred.

* * *

 _Thanks so much for reading! It means the world to me._

 _Fun fact: The name of the story comes from a poem that Bonnie Parker wrote._

 _I got crazy excited when I realized that Bellamy and Clarke and Bonnie and Clyde had the same initials._

 _Until next time! xoxox_


End file.
